Sashimi

“I want three sashimis and one large squid tempura. And get the man another drink.” The geisha bowed.

A sashimi of beef—thin peppered strips seared to a point just past rawness—was served with a frothy dressing of egg whites whipped with mustard and herbs, including tarragon and chives. The two sashimis may be the only dishes I enjoyed at La Petite Chaya that are still on the menu, […]

“Two Caesars to begin, mine with extra anchovies,” Carlsson says, “then, let’s see, Miss Preston’s a fish lover, so do the tuna and sand dab sashimi as a main for her, and I’ll have the free-range as usual.” / “One sashimi, one chicken. Very good, sir.”

The display and garnishing of the sashimi is an important testing ground for the chef’s artistic originality. After all, the fish are raw, and beyond making sure that they are fresh and of high quality, there is little to be done about the flavor. Therefore the chef must become an artist if the sashimi are to be memorable.

You will recall that, contrary to the relative appearance of the words, the sashimi are the simple raw fish slices and the sushi are the rolls of rice and raw fish.

The remarkable news is that all the sashimi were quite fresh — hard to achieve in a small restaurant.

It is customary to serve sashimi in odd numbers, which are considered lucky, and servings of five sashimi are common. Thus, the small flat dish in which the soy sauce comes is large enough, but not too large, for one sashimi at a time.

“Maybe I will have one of these sashimi,” I said, reaching for a slimy pink glob.